


I Turn to You

by thatoldeblackmagic



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Coffee dad strikes again, Fluff, Gen, Some angst, Underage Drinking, because being joker is suffering, but with parental supervision???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:22:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatoldeblackmagic/pseuds/thatoldeblackmagic
Summary: Akira is so incredibly sick of watching his friends die.  They always somehow come back, which is honestly terrifying in its own right, but it never gets any easier watching the people he’s chosen to love crumple into a pile on the ground.or, Sojiro tries to pick up the pieces





	I Turn to You

Akira is so incredibly sick of watching his friends die. They always somehow come back, which is honestly terrifying in its own right, but it never gets any easier watching the people he’s chosen to love crumple into a pile on the ground. 

And see, the thing is, they never actually die. Akira knows this. Morgana has assured him of it time and time again. But, in the Metaverse a fake gun that looks real enough will shoot very real bullets. An unconscious body that looks dead enough is still cool to the touch. No heartbeat, no breathing, no flicker of life until the persona’s magic does… whatever the fuck it does to revive the fallen.

Not like Akira would know since he’s never been the one who ends up on the ground.

Akira is also pretty sick of himself too. When they’re fighting, his mind is all tactics and strategy, planning out the best way to get out of this shitshow alive and (hopefully) in one piece. It’s only after the fight is over and the dust has settled, that Akira realizes he left Morgana lying unconscious on the ground for over a minute while he fucking bartered with a shadow of all things. And worse still, he knows no one will blame him for it. Even though they should. They all put their trust in him to lead their cobbled together group of thieves, and instead he prioritizes swindling shadows over reviving teammates. 

He’s terrified that one day, he will have waited too long and not even realize it. That’s probably not even how this whole thing works, but then again it could be. It could be that if he let Morgana lay there cold on the ground for another second, he would join the swarming collective subconscious of Mementos and never get to eat the leftover tuna sushi sitting in the fridge at Leblanc. 

It’s all Akira can think about on the seemingly endless train ride back to Yongen. Today’s trip to Mementos had been a fucking trainwreck. It just, never ends. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel, no real sense of accomplishment for reaching a deeper level, just more maze-like caverns and weird disembodied voices. At least some of the palaces look nice. Akira would gladly take the gaudy, and self-glorifying art from Madarame’s palace over dark tunnels and ghostly echoes. 

The only thing that really changes from level to level is that the shadows continuously grow tougher. Which isn’t too much of a problem with the right amount of pacing, but tonight Akira had definitely found the breaking point. 

Just one level too far. It was, as it always is, his decision to go ahead. Makoto had advised that they call it quits for the night when they reached the train station five levels down, but Ryuji and Morgana hadn’t even gotten to fight yet and insisted that they continue. Akira had agreed, not realized that Ann was pushing her limit and Yusuke was way past his. 

All it took was a poorly timed ambush and a couple lucky hits to land both Ann and Morgana on the ground in a matter of minutes. When Futaba finally gave the okay for them to run, Akira and Ryuji had to physically haul their friends’ bodies out of the battlefield in double time. Ann, as always, was a good sport about it with Morgana a bit less so. Even so, they shook it off and ascended to the entrance of Mementos in relatively high spirits. It’s not like this is the first time they’ve died on the battlefield before. Certainly won’t be the last. 

Futaba is way too caught up playing some rhythm game on her phone to notice anything is up with Akira, which he is way too thankful for. She gets to be an awkward sort of overbearing when someone she loves is upset, not socially comfortable enough to provide a steady presence, but too kind to leave them alone. Which usually means having your internet tracked then finding a rush order package of some expensive thing on Akira’s Amazon wishlist delivered by the next morning. 

Akira isn’t so lucky with Morgana. He gets this look, made more expressive by his luminous eyes, that says ‘Not now. Break on your own time’. Which is essentially how every tough love conversation with Morgana ends up. The only respite he can find is that Morgana can’t just chew him out on a public train without getting them both kicked off. 

Though, Akira can still recite the argument by heart. ‘Joker is an infallible leader, strong, confident, egotistical, willing to use his teammates as collateral damage if the situation calls for it,’ Morgana would say with the ignorant confidence of someone who has never had to be in charge of other people’s lives. ‘Yes, but’ Akira would argue silently ‘Akira Kurusu is just some 16 year old delinquent, tired, vulnerable, would take a bullet for any of his friends without hesitation’. They’re seperate people, though sometimes he can tell that his friends want them to be one and the same to the point that Joker mask has started following him outside of the Metaverse. It gets hastily thrown on whenever Ryuji calls him ‘leader’, or when Makoto looks to him with calculated expectation in her eyes, when Morgana reminds him just how dangerous this whole operation is. 

It’s exhausting having to shuffle through identities. Someone should make him a set of cue cards so he knows exactly what kind of asshole to be and when. 

The train finally arrives in Yongen, and Akira walks Futaba home, or tries to. Mostly he tugs on her arms, this way and that, ensuring she doesn’t run into anything since she’s still buried in her game. The lights are off at the Sakura household when they get there, meaning Sojiro is pulling a late night at Leblanc. Which is just Akira’s luck, the day he doesn’t want to see anyone is the day Sojiro actually decides to close at regular hours. 

Futaba is in the house and around the corner before he even gets the chance to wish her good night, or maybe the chance was there but he missed it while bemoaning his own existence. Either way, he better start making his way back to Leblanc before the nosy, yet well-intentioned neighbor calls Sojiro to inform him that his charge is ‘Loitering in the streets like some sort of creep again’. Which isn’t really fair, loitering is done without a clear purpose and Akira’s purpose is to avoid any form of social interaction, especially with Sojiro.

Which is why he hesitates when reaching Leblanc. He could just climb up the fence, onto the small overhang, and shimmy through the window. It’s an alternate route he discovered back before Sojiro trusted him to close up at night, back when the attic felt like a holding chamber rather than a home. Akira hasn’t had to use it in months, why would he when the front door is far easier and more welcoming. He isn’t even sure whether the window is still unlocked or not.

His internal debate about whether or not to risk it must take too long, because suddenly he hears the lock turn and Sojiro steps into the doorway.

“Did you forget your key? You’ve been standing out here for a solid minute kid, you know you can always just yell at me or something and I’ll let you in.” He says, and turns back into the store, pushing the door open behind him as he expects Akira to follow.

And Akira does, because the familiar amalgamated scent of curry, coffee, and, Seven Stars tobacco smoke somehow acts as an instantaneous placebo. But then again, maybe the placebo is just Leblanc in general. There are traces of his people here, his friends during happy times. The priceless painting that hangs in the corner, the manga that Ryuji reads sits intermingled with the books on the counter, a milk frother is among the coffee paraphernalia since Ann exclusively drinks what Sojiro calls ‘coffee flavored foam’, a picture of Futaba hangs on the fridge. 

Leblanc is proof that he is Akira Kurusu. The smell has permeated all of his clothing and never seems to fade, no matter how many times he takes them to the laundromat. Joker doesn’t smell like spice, and bitterness, and ash. It never follows him into the Metaverse, only greets him once he leaves. 

Akira breathes for what feels like the first time since Ann’s form crumpled to the ground. The door swings closed behind him, and Akira can almost physically feel the tension slowly begin to seep from his body.

Sojiro takes a long drag of his cigarette, looking Akira over with curious concern. “You look like shit.” He says, blowing smoke out from the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks.” Akira responds, slowly walking by the counter. “I’ve been trying to rework my pretty boy image to look more like the delinquent I truly am.”

“Uh huh.” Sojiro deadpans, never looking away from Akira. He almost makes it to the stairs, right foot raised to place it on the first step and hopefully reach his bed before he collapses, when Sojiro says. “Wait.”

So again, Akira does. He pauses on the bottom step, turning to look back at Sojiro.

Sojiro who has started fumbling with the coffee grounds, despite the fact that the store was ready for close when Akira walked in. He doesn’t look up at Akira as he says, “Go put your stuff down upstairs, get settled in for the night, y’know like pjs and stuff,” He pauses, takes another drag. “When you’re done though, come back down here. I wanna talk to you for a bit.” 

Which isn’t foreboding at all. Akira just nods, turns toward the attic, and continues upstairs, wondering if Sojiro finally decided to ship him off somewhere else.

A soon as he gets to the top of the stairs, Morgana pops out of his bag, looks him dead in the eyes and say, “You think Sojiro finally saw your midterm grade and is gonna throw you out?”

Which, admittedly, was a fleeting thought Akira had on his slow trudge up the stairs. Instead he says, “I think Sojiro realized you’re the one who knocked over the Jamaican Blue Mountain and is going to try to convince me to have you put down.” 

“Ha. Ha. That’s hilarious Akira, but we all know that, like everything, it was Ryuji’s fault for not putting away the mop bucket like he was supposed to.” Morgana’s tail flicks with annoyance as he hops up to his usual perch on the railing. He continues without prompting, “But really, what do you think that’s all about? It’s kind of weird for Boss to ask to talk like that.”

Akira sighs, and can feel Leblanc’s placebo effect being quickly overridden by annoyance and nerves. “I’m not sure. Only one way to find out though.” Quickly, he finished changing, and stands at the top of the stairs, eyeing Morgana with an unasked question.

Morgana yawns theatrically, says “G’night Akira!”, and saunters over to his spot on the bed, curling up with his back to the door.

“Coward,” Akira mutters as he finally heads back downstairs. It’s not like Morgana won’t eavesdrop from the top of the stairs anyway. He could have at least offered a little bit of moral support and pretended to be interested in accompanying Akira to what is surely going to be an awkward conversation. 

The steps creak as he walks, announcing his arrival to the cafe where he finds Sojiro sitting at the bar. There’s a coffee mug in his hand, steam rising to slightly fog his glasses, and anothing steaming mug sitting on the bar to his left. Sojiro pats the barstool next to him and says, “Sit.”

Slowly, Akira ambles over, purposefully putting on a show of dragging his feet before he plops down into the stool. In an effort to occupy his hands, he reached for the cup on the counter, gets it halfway to his mouth, then realizes that whatever is in this cup is distinctly not coffee. It’s an amber-yellow color, almost deep enough to be a light brown, and it smells richly of honey, lemon, and some spicy scent that Akira can’t place.

He sets the mug down gently, and looks over at Sojiro with an eyebrow raised. “What is this? Are you finally branching out Leblanc’s drink menu from coffee and coffee alone?”

“Just try it you smartass.” Sojiro huffs, and goes in for another sip of his own drink which seems to be same same thing Akira has. “Try it, then tell me what you think it is.”

And, alright, Akira will admit he’s a bit intrigued. The drink smells good at least, so maybe if this turns out to be some sort of Sojiro engineered knockout juice, he’ll go down with a good taste in his mouth. So, Akira shrugs, and takes a sip. And damn, it is good. It’s all warmth, honey, spices, and a rich flavor that Akira still doesn’t fully recognize. It’s only when the burn hits the back of his throat that Akira is able to place the sensation through memories of ill-advised vodka shots done in Ann’s guest bathroom. It’s nothing as harsh as that though, and hopefully won’t leave him miserable with a pounding headache like last time. He still blames that one on Yusuke. 

Akira set the mug back down on the counter with a clink and says, “This is a trick question. It tastes just like Jamaican Blue Mountain, but I know we don’t have any left.”

Sojiro snorts out a laugh and responds, “If you think that tastes anything like coffee, then we need to send you over to Takemi. I’m sure she’s got some sort of drug that can fix you up. And I know the cat did it. He left a little paw print in the coffee grounds.”

Akira hopes Morgana heard that. He takes another sip, reveling in the calmness that a non caffeinated hot beverage brings. “It’s like really strong, really boozy lemon tea with honey.” Which, wait. “Do you just always have alcohol on hand? Should I be worried?” 

“I keep some behind the counter, in case of emergency.” Sojiro grins. He reaches over to tap on handle of Akira’s mug. “That’s a hot toddy. I usually drink one before bed once the weather turns cold.” 

Akira can see the appeal. It seems to chase away cold he didn’t even know was there, making his cheeks feel like they’re glowing. “A hot toddy.” Akira repeats, committing it to memory. “So, Here's the booze,” Akira starts, and turns his head to look around the little cafe. “Where’s the emergency?”

Except, Sojiro doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even react except to stare out of the corner of his eye at Akira. Neither of them say anything for a few moments too long, and Akira goes back to nervously sipping at his mug just for something to do. 

Then finally, Sojiro moves. He put his mug down, rubs the bridge of his nose, and lets out a world-weary sigh. “Fuck. I don’t even have a jumping off point for this. You’re the emergency, kid. Sometimes you walk in here with a thousand yard stare, looking like some sort of war vet, then you cover the whole thing up with smartass remarks and bullshit excuses. I just- I don’t-” Sojiro lets out a frustrated sound, and clumsily fumbles to light another cigarette. He takes a long drag, letting the smoke linger in front of him, then continues, “I don’t know what you and your friends are doing. I’m not sure if I wanna know, if I’m being honest. But, I do know that I want you to be safe. Whatever it is that’s putting so much stress on you, with that level of danger, maybe it isn’t worth it.”

It’s astonishing how easy it is to forget that Sojiro notices things, that Sojiro is observant in a casual and unassuming way. Though, Akira never really thought he cared, not this much at least. He’s just Sojiro’s charge, just some boy that got tossed into his life and pushed into the attic. But when he thinks about it, Akira should have known better. Leblanc has remnants of Akira’s people that wouldn’t be allowed to linger if Sojiro didn’t want them to. Morgana knocked over Sojiro’s pride and joy, and he didn’t even get upset about it, let alone blame anyone. Sojiro’s gone soft, Akira realizes, and can’t help the slow smile that edges onto his face. 

“Why are you grinning like that?” Sojiro frowns as he nervously alternates between sipping and smoking. “I’m being serious here kid. You shouldn’t get in over your head for something that won’t even matter a few years down the road.”

“It is worth it.” Akira says, and finds that he really, truly means it. “It will matter a few years down the road. Maybe it’s thankless, and kind of brutal, but I want to make something good work. I can’t fix everything, but I can help start a change.” 

Akira can see Sojiro’s eyes widen with a sense of understanding. Sojiro notices things, though Akira can’t be sure how much he truly knows. It took their group long enough to wrap their heads around the metaverse, he doubts its something Sojiro could intuit from a vague conversation. Even so, Akira finds that he doesn’t mind. He trusts Sojiro, and whether he knows or not doesn’t really matter.

Sojiro laughs, softly at first, then more and more boisterous until he’s openly chuckling. “Damn kid! You’re really up shit creek without a paddle, aren’t you? I’ve officially decided that I do not want to know what you and your weird friends are doing.” He shakes his head, smile lingering on his face. “Man, somehow it's always the troublemakers that end up on my doorstep.” 

“Cheers to that.” Akira says, raising up his mug between them. Sojiro shoots him a wide grin, eyes still bright with laughter, and raises his mug to meet in the middle. With a clink, their glasses tap together, and Akira pulls his back for a long, heavy swig. Alcohol fizzes warm in his system and he finally understands why people call it a buzz. 

“Hey kid,” Akira pulls his drink back down to find Sojiro looking at him again, this time more fondly than the last. “You know you can call me right? If you need help, or a ride, or just an excuse not to do something. Just tell whoever it is that I’m making you pick up a shift. I don’t think I ever made this clear before, but I want you to know. Alright?”

It’s the most dad thing anyone has ever said to Akira. And he knows he’s grinning again, he just can’t help it. Whether it's the booze, or the atmosphere, or some combination of the two, Akira feels light, floaty. “Yeah.” Akira says, lifting his mug up to cover his mouth. “I got it.”

“Alright.” Sojiro says, turning back to his drink.

They spend a few minutes like that, sitting in companionable silence sipping on their quickly cooling drinks, and Akira spends the moments in thought. He feels… better. Not perfect, but he needed this. He needed someone to notice he was suffering and offer up help and comfort with no conditions, no image to uphold. The fact that of all people it was Sojiro to be there for him makes this whole thing a thousand times better, at least. Sojiro is someone he can trust implicitly, someone he maybe loves like family, and also kind of wants to make proud.

And damn, thats not a thought a completely sober Akira would ever let fly. He tips back the rest of his drink, chasing the last bit of warmth, then slumps down on the the bar with his head pillowed in his arms. 

“Woah kid, are you that much of a lightweight?” He feels the bottom rim of Sojiro’s mug tap against his elbow.

Turning his head to face Sojiro and completely messing up his glasses in the process, he replies “Naw. Exhaustion just caught up to me. What do you usually do with drunks that fall asleep on your bar?” 

Sojiro looks at him with one eyebrow raised. “Well, seeing as this is a cafe, I generally have to deal with chasing out over caffeinated teenagers who don’t understand that this is a business and not a clubhouse.” So he says, but he’s smiling too because he knows that Leblanc is totally a clubhouse. 

He smiles back at the half blurry Sojiro from behind his skewed glasses. “Watch out Sojiro. Now that I know where you alcohol stash is you’re going to be dealing with a lot more drunk teens in your establishment.” 

“Oh hell no. I have the legal authority to ground your ass Akira. Don’t think I won’t do it.” Says Akira’s new dad apparently. 

It makes Akira laugh, turning his face back into the crook of his arms to try and muffle it.

Sojiro hears anyway. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh about it now, but I’m dead serious. Anyway it’s past my bedtime, so I know it’s way past yours.” A hand slightly ruffles his hair, but is gone before he can look up. 

The barstool scrapes against the floor as Sojiro stands up to put their mugs in the sink. Akira follows suit, with a yawn and a stretch, he stands up, blinking back the tiredness that falls upon him like a shroud. “You need any help?”

“No kid, it’s just two mugs. You’re dead on your feet. Go to bed.” Sojiro says without looking up from his place at the sink. 

So, Akira trudges over to the stairs, legs feeling like lead with the pleasant buzz of whatever liquor is in a hot toddy coursing through him. He pauses just before the first step, peers around the corner, and says “Goodnight Sojiro.”

Sojiro pauses, looks up from the soapy water and responds “G’night kid. Sleep well.”

That though carries him up to his attic room, curled under his covers, as he strains his ear to listen for Sojiro moving around in the cafe below. A sleepy Morgana eventually finds his way from the foot of the bed, up to Akira's chest and his slight purrs resonate with the buzz in Akira's chest. 

It's a warm feeling, a safe feeling that stays with Akira as he drifts into a sweet, dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> angsty akria turned into coffee dad fluff. i guess thats just how it goes.  
> also the alternate title to this was Daddy Lessons so i guess you're welcome for not doing that


End file.
